I Dreamed a Dream
by Fluffy-CSI
Summary: Part 5 up GS angst Sara walks again
1. I Dreamed a Dream

**Title**: On My Own

**Spoilers**: Minimal

**Archiving**: Sure, just let me know

**Rating: **PG-13 for mentions of sex and semi-strong language

**Notes**: This is meant to be a companion piece to my earlier songfic, "On My Own." See, this is what happens when the evil Insomnia Devil attacks – sequels (or prequels) start coming out of the woodwork! The song is "I Dreamed a Dream" again from _Les Miserables_. I don't own it or the production (dear god, I'd be rich if I did), nor do I own any of the characters of CSI (I'd be rich if I owned them too) or the show itself (even richer).

And here I am again in my dark corner of the park. I've been spending more and more time out here lately, reflecting on what's gone wrong in my life. Judging by the amount of time I spend thinking about it, there's a hell of a lot of "wrong" in there right now. But tonight, here and now, all the thoughts of past wrongs are catching up with me. I'll tell you something, and I'm sure it sounds whiny, but it's true, honestly. See, when I get to thinking about things like I'm doing now, I'd swear that nearly all my problems stem from that one summer: the summer before I graduated from Harvard.

College was a great time for me. Not that I was a social butterfly or anything, because we all know that would never happen, but it was the first time in my life that I was out of my parents' house and able to go somewhere that housed people like me. Well, at least, people more like me than Mom and Dad are.

I spent my last summer of college in Boston. My parents wanted me to come home, but I loved the area, so I kept putting them off until the summer was over. Actually, things would have been easier if I had really just put them off in the manner of a normal college student. Being me, though, I told them I was taking a summer course. It was the truth – I wouldn't lie about something that easy to disprove - but my parents always thought I spent too much time in school. They would have been happier if I'd said I was going to spend the summer drinking beer and picking up strange men, I think.

Well, one out of two ain't bad, and I'll give you a hint about which it is: I didn't spend a lot of money on beer that summer.

I'm falling back in time, and once again I feel a strange empathy for the women in my favorite musical. Fantine's story mirrors mine in so many ways, and I can rarely think about the past without thinking about her.

There was a time when men were kind,  
When their voices were soft  
And their words inviting.  
There was a time when love was blind  
And the world was a song  
And the song was exciting.

See, I didn't really start dating until I went to college, so the whole thing was a new experience for me. It was exciting. Well, at least until I figured out the game and got disgusted. For a while, though, I was so sure that all the guys who hit on me wanted Sara, not just the brown-haired girl with the stacked body (I didn't make that line up – a friend once told that that's what the guys said about me).

By senior year, though, I'd figured it out. I was a trophy, really. The guy who managed to get me into bed would be the stud of the school. That last year, some of the frats had even started offering rewards among themselves. "Bang Sara Sidle and win a hundred bucks!" That sort of thing. Ugh, men.

But by that time, I didn't care. I had other things that occupied my mind and spirit.

There was a time  
When it all went wrong.

This is what always gets to me when I start thinking about that summer. All the good memories come flooding back and I remember the fun I had during those four months. Then, just as I'm starting to smile, I remember the rest of it. Turn back the clock and you'll find that half of the time I'm about to tell you about is black. Just plain black.

I dreamed a dream in time gone by  
When hope was high  
And life worth living  
I dreamed that love would never die  
I dreamed that God would be forgiving.

The annoyances of college didn't matter to me that summer. I was twenty-one, full of idealism, and madly infatuated with the prof of my Entomology class. The class was really interesting, and the fact that the man up front was gorgeous didn't hurt matters at all. When things got boring, I'd just sit and daydream about how I could get him alone and what I would do if I did.

The professor was a little older than me. Ok, well, more than a little. He was thirty-six at the time – but he was just so captivating. He didn't look like what I would've called "middle-aged" back then. He had a great body and kind of reminded me of Indiana Jones. You know, boring professor by day, but put him in a ripped shirt with a whip and daaaaamn!

The farther into the summer we got, the more hung-up I got on the guy. I would bounce out of bed at 7:30, spend nearly an hour trying to make myself look good, then go to class at 8:15 and plant myself in the front row, hoping he'd notice me.

He finally did, and that day I felt like God was smiling down on me and the angels were singing. I always hung around after class, just to spend a few more minutes staring, and one morning in early June he came up to me and asked me a few questions to test whether I'd paid attention.

I had, of course, and seeing his eyes crinkle and his mouth split into a wide smile when I answered every single question correctly was worth the effort I'd put into the class. He seemed really pleased with me, and we got to talking. Before we knew it, students for the next class were walking in and there we were, sitting in the front row, two seats apart, staring at each other but pretending we weren't.

I went home that afternoon and practically danced around my apartment. Dr. Grissom had so noticed me, he'd hinted about us going out some time, but hadn't come out and asked, and I was sure that things were just going to get better from here. He'd get up the guts eventually.

I would've asked him out, instead, but I had major issues with how my peers saw me. They already thought I was a kiss-ass, and if they found out that I had asked the professor out? Well of course by the next day everyone would know that Sara Sidle was trying to sleep her way to an A. Ridiculous, I've never had to do anything underhanded to get an A in my life! Oops, but that's another issue.

So we spent a week or so dancing around each other. My daydreams turned into day fantasies and I'm embarrassed to tell you that I sat in the class like a lovesick puppy for the entire time we were dancing around that issue. Puppy love, hah. With Grissom, it was more like Sumatran Hissing Cockroach love. But I'll tell you, I was in romantic raptures over him, muttering things to my friends about "pure first love." It's a mortifying thought even now, ten years later.

Then I was young and unafraid  
And dreams were made and used  
And wasted  
There was no ransom to be paid  
No song unsung  
No wine untasted.

Not that I was pure and innocent by that point, though. I'd been played enough times to know the rules, and I'd taken delight in breaking them during Spring Break my junior year. Once I made sure that Ken Fuller didn't know anyone from the undergrad frat world, I figured, what the hell. Graduating college a virgin would suck.

So I took advantage of the opportunity, and Ken and I had a fun time for a few months. To tell the truth, I got as much pleasure out of watching the frat boys gape at us as I did from spending time with my supposed-boyfriend.

So, like I was saying, it wasn't like I was innocent when I met Gil Grissom. Ken and I had gone our separate ways by that point, and I saw absolutely nothing wrong with ogling the hot professor who taught my summer class.

But the tigers come at night  
With their voices soft as thunder  
As they tear your hope apart  
As they turn your dream to shame.

The summer ended a lot different than it began. I've noticed lately that I always seem to have pockets of happiness in my life, surrounded by vast stretches of loneliness and depression. I wonder what that says about me?

I started out the summer so happy. I don't know if I've been that uncompromisingly happy since, in fact. I was a senior, I had the highest GPA in my major, and I was taking a disturbingly interesting course on bugs taught by a new professor with hypnotic eyes.

Like I said, though, the end sucked. Blew. Bit. Use whatever word you want, because I certainly will. It comes down to the fact that by the end, I felt worthless and empty. See, this is the point in my thinking where I start feeling the memories dragging me down.

I guess I'm not making much sense, even to myself. Everything's jumbled up, and as much as I don't want to, I feel compelled to sort it all out and relive the events as I walk. For you and me both, then, it's probably better to start at the beginning.

He slept a summer by my side  
He filled my days  
With endless wonder

I have to smile at this point in my thoughts, because now comes the good part. The happy part, and I bet you can guess why.

Yep, Dr. Grissom finally asked me out to dinner. It was one of those instant connections you feel with some people. We'd clicked the first time we talked, and we only got closer from there. So we went to dinner, we talked, we had a few drinks.

Grissom insisted on paying that night, which wasn't usually my style. I was so focused on making sure he liked me, though, that I let him. Hey, if paying for me to eat is what turns on someone as hot as Grissom, I was all for it.

After we had dessert, I invited him back to my apartment. And yeah, we did what you're thinking. It wasn't like first-date sex, though, honestly. I mean, it was sex on the first date, but neither of us took it lightly, or at least I thought so. It was the kind of sex that's addictive because it's so good.

So we did it again! But not just that, of course. We started "seeing each other," to use the euphemism we batted back and forth. Classes were the same - it wasn't like he was suddenly going to start favoring me, and it wasn't like I was suddenly going to jump the teacher in the middle of class – but the nights and the weekends were amazing. We did all the typical couple stuff, like movies, the zoo, walking in the park while holding hands.

Yeah, it's the memory of walking in the park that always comes back to bite me in the ass on nights like these. Almost like my life's done a 180° since then.

He took my childhood in his stride  
But he was gone when autumn came.

He always told me that our age difference didn't matter. Mentally, we were pretty much on the same level, and though he had some qualms about dating a student, the fact that I was fifteen years younger didn't seem to bother either of us.

I'd get upset sometimes that we had to keep everything so secret. It had to be secret because if anyone at school found out, he could be fired and I would be a pariah. So though we did go out, we spent a lot of time in our apartments just being together.

It got to me after a while. I was young, and though I was certainly more mature than most of my classmates, I was still a student. I wanted to go out to a bar every now and then, or have dinner at a trendy restaurant. Grissom was more of a homebody. He'd just shake his head and laugh when I brought up things like that. "I know, Sara," he'd say, "but we just can't risk it right now. Now c'mon and give me a kiss." And, of course, I would.

I was head over heels and I told myself that going out to a bar wasn't as important as being able to see Grissom. I actually scheduled my first course in crime-related forensics because he said I should. Not a good reason to take a class, I know, but it turned out to be the right choice. But seriously, I think I would've taken any class he'd suggested even if it had been "Interpretive Dance 101." That's how much I wanted to please him. I mean, I can't even describe to you how in love with him I was. I was sure that we'd stay together, that maybe one day we'd get married, settle down. White picket fences and puppies, the whole nine yards.

So when the summer started to wane, I didn't think much of it. It was just a change of season. Fall semester would start soon and things really wouldn't be that much different. Grissom would be teaching different courses, I would be taking different courses, but it would still be "Sara and Grissom" after hours. I never noticed that he said very little when I brought things like that up. I never noticed until it was too late. Everyone say it together, now: "Dumb, Sara."

And then the whole plan came crashing down on me. I'd built a house of cards on my own fantasies, never thinking that Grissom may not have wanted the same thing.

I went home the last week of summer to visit my parents and exchange some of my summer clothes for my winter clothes. The whole time I was there I was bouncing off the walls. My parents didn't know what was going on, but they certainly knew that something was going on with their daughter. I was so impatient to get back to Boston and Grissom. I was in love and when the last day of my vacation came, I wasn't at all sorry to leave my parents' home again.

There was a note slipped under my apartment door when I got back to Boston. It was the last thing I looked at that day, because I spent hours unpacking, humming to myself, and trying to imagine how Grissom would welcome me back. When I finally found time to read it, though, I literally collapsed. I nearly killed myself when I smacked my head into the corner of a table, and I have the scar on my forehead to prove it.

"Sara," it opened. Not "Dear Sara" or even "Hi Sara!" No, this was just plain "Sara." I should have known then that I was in trouble, but young skulls are thicker than they should be.

"I'm leaving this note on Thursday because I'm not sure when you'll be back. I, uh . . . this is hard to say, so I'll just write it quickly. I'm not coming back in the Fall. I resigned my professorship and I'm moving on to a job in the real world. I won't tell you where I'm going, and it's better that way. Don't hate me, Sara, because you'll soon realize that this is the best thing for both of us. You need to focus your time on becoming an adult and entering the real world, and me and you, well, we just wouldn't work. This was a wonderful summer and I'll never regret a minute of it, but it's time to move on.

Good luck, Grissom."

Like I said, I collapsed. The fall, coupled with my skull connecting with the coffee table, knocked me out. My last thought before I lost consciousness was that it was better for me to be passing out. When you're in that darkness, the world could crumble around you and you wouldn't know or care. And my world was definitely crumbling.

I woke up an hour later with my friend Jenna kneeling over me, scared to death. She'd called and become concerned when I didn't answer when she knew I should have been home, so she got my super to let her into my apartment. She asked me what was wrong, numerous times and more worriedly each time, but I didn't spill. The few friends who knew about me and Grissom had been telling me the whole time that it was a dumb thing to be doing, and I wasn't going to let them know how right they'd been.

So I stood up and shook my head a couple of times to clear it, smiled at her, and told her I'd tripped over the table leg and knocked myself out. She looked suspicious, but she backed off and left me alone.

For the next few years, I spent all my energy on getting my life back together. Believe me, that's harder than it sounds when your life's just lying in tiny, razor-sharp shards around you, but I managed. I managed just to spite Grissom, I think sometimes, and I managed very well, thankyouverymuch.

And still I dream he'll come to me  
That we will live the years together  
But there are dreams that cannot be  
And there are storms  
We cannot weather…

And now, idiot that I am, I'm in Vegas with him because he crooked a finger and asked me to come. Almost ten years of trying to forget, all blown to hell with one phone call and a dumbass decision on my part.

Of course, try telling that to my unconscious, which never gave him up no matter how hard I tried. It's starting to get the better of me, and I've fallen for him again. How's that for the most insane thing you've ever heard? He used me as summer entertainment and broke my heart, and I'm still crazy about him.

True to form, Grissom has been ignoring me ever since he began to suspect that I felt that way. He looks frightened when he sees me now, like he's afraid that I'll put my gun to use on him. Or put my figure to use on him, for that matter. He hasn't assigned me to work a case with him since god knows when. In short, he's treating me like the pesky kid he apparently saw me as ten years ago.

I spend at least an hour a day trying to talk myself out of it. Intellectually, it's a no-brainer. Hello, Sara, he treated you like a little sex toy and dumped your sorry ass when you fell in love with him, and now you're offering yourself up for the same torture again?

It's taken three years of rejection, but my heart is starting to believe my head. I'm a strong person, I know that, and there's no reason for me to be doing this to myself. I have nothing to prove. Will I feel better if I can charm Grissom into a relationship and get dumped again? Of course not. But here I am tilting at Quixote's windmill, otherwise known as Dr. Gil Grissom, and getting knocked off my horse every time.

I made the final arrangements this afternoon. In fifteen days, I'm out of here. Out of Vegas, out of my misery, and into a new job in Miami. The CSIs there are wonderful, and better than that, I have absolutely zero interest in any of them.

I haven't told Grissom yet, or anyone else on the team. Their loyalties lie with him and if any of them found out, they'd run to tell him - and I don't believe that I owe him an explanation or even advance warning. I went over his head and gave my two-week notice to the Sheriff. He and Conrad Ecklie, the day shift supervisor, are respecting my request for secrecy and doing the interviews for my replacement themselves, and they'll just present him or her to Grissom the day after I leave. Serves him right. I'm a damn good CSI, and I hope he feels the pain of his lab slipping a little in the national ratings, since I'm sure he won't feel any pain over me being gone.

I had a dream my life would be  
So different from this hell I'm living  
So different now from what it seemed  
Now life has killed  
The dream I dreamed.

Back then, I had stars in my eyes and my hopes were somewhere up in the clouds. Like Fantine in Les Mis, I had such a beautiful dream of what my next seventy years would look like, and like hers, my dreams were shattered by the callous treatment of the one man I trusted.

That pretty vision of the white picket fence and the puppy will never happen for me. I don't ever want to give a man that much control over my emotions again, and I doubt that I could allow myself to even if I wanted it. When I'm PMSing, I've been known to tell people that I wish all males would just drop off the earth. The life of every female I've ever known would be safer, better, and happier. No beatings, no being cheated on, and no being used and then thrown out with the trash.

Hell indeed, Fantine. Las Vegas is certainly hell to me. Hopefully I can get my act together again and move up to purgatory once I'm away from here. I certainly won't ever make it to heaven in this life, because the ugly knowledge of what he did to me is all still there in my mind.

I started out innocent and trusting, but the years have been cruel and now I'm like a pale imitation of what I was in those days. Experience has taught me my lesson, and it was a big one: don't dream. Dreams are never worth the pain.


	2. You're Gone

**A/N: **I wasn't planning on following up on IDaD, but I just couldn't let it go when Grissom sounded like such a rat bastard from Sara's point of view. Plus, I got desperate e-mails from a fan or two begging me to tell them it wasn't so (yeeeah you know who you are). Not that this chapter is exactly happy pink bunnies or anything, but it leaves the issue more open-ended.

Part II: Two Weeks Later

Sara's gone. She's gone, and I didn't know. She's gone, and she didn't tell me. I didn't know how much she really hated me until tonight. I just . . . didn't know. Maybe it's poetic justice. I left her once with no warning, and now she's done the same to me. 

We've never discussed that summer. I have no idea how my desertion affected her or what she thought. As far as I know, she's never spoken of it to anyone, even her closest friends and family. At least I'm not alone in being shut out, but that doesn't make me feel the slightest bit better.

I'm in shock right now. She must hate me. She wouldn't allow Ecklie and Mobley to say a word to me until her flight to Miami was off the ground. In case I decided to come after her, I guess, and I just might have. She hardly spoke to me in the past two weeks, and I guess now I know why – escape was the only thing on her mind.

I feel so lost. One of the few constants in my life has been knowing that I once had the love of the most perfect woman I've ever met, but I can no longer depend on that thought. Wherever she is, she has no feelings left for me. Well no, that's not true. She feels indifference, anger, and fear. I didn't know how much I hurt her that summer. I didn't know!
    
    _I said, "Hello I think I'm broken."_
    
    _And though I was only jokin'_
    
    _It took me by surprise when you agreed._
    
    _I was tryin' to be clever_
    
    _But for the life of me I never_
    
    _Would have guessed how far the simple truth would lead._
    
    _You knew all my lines. You knew all my tricks._
    
    _You knew how to heal that pain no medicine can fix._

That was the summer I was at Harvard, ecstatic that I'd found such an amazing teaching position. My first teaching experience in academia was that entomology class that she took. I suppose I was as starry-eyed as Sara was, in some ways.

Her face captivated me immediately. What you notice first about Sara Sidle when you meet her is that she's absolutely beautiful. Drop-dead gorgeous. Only later do you find out that much more of her beauty comes from within. I was no exception to that weak-kneed effect that she seemed to have on every male around. The girl in the front row was beautiful, but I was her teacher. It made me feel like a lecher to watch her during class, but I couldn't resist.

I watched her, and a few times I caught her watching me. Our eyes would meet, then quickly shift away as we tried to pretend that we'd been looking at anything but each other. I was hooked, but I was still fighting it. The girl was fifteen years younger than me, and fifteen years is a lifetime. It would be wrong to take advantage of one of my students, especially one so young. She was barely old enough to drink the summer I met Sara Sidle.

I buckled, finally. When I think back, I realize that it was almost unavoidable. We were drawn to each other by a force stronger than either of us. So one morning I gathered up every bit of courage I had in my body and spoke to her. The questions I asked her were just an excuse to speak to the beautiful girl in the front row, but when that beautiful girl opened her mouth and began relaying all the correct answers without parroting back what I'd said, she stopped being "the beautiful girl" and became Sara Sidle.

We talked for nearly an hour that first day, and it was obvious that there was a spark between us. I think I was much more surprised by it than she was. There I was, thirty-six years old and a man no woman would date, let alone marry, and a beautiful twenty-one year old was looking at me like I was a god.

I didn't ask her on a date that day. Conversation was acceptable, I told myself, but dating was not. I didn't speak as innocently as I had hoped I would, though, and I know that at least twice I dropped hints about a dinner involving her and me. Each time, her eyebrows rose and fell quickly and I could tell she was trying to absorb and interpret what I'd just said.

I fought it for two more weeks, but I lost. I threw all my virtuous intentions out the window and dove into a relationship with Sara. She was perfect, absolutely perfect. A brilliant mind, an amazing body, and a gentle soul. And she wasn't afraid of my bugs, either. You'd think it can't get much better than that, but it did. Because she wasn't just those things to me anymore. Sara couldn't – and still can't – be summed up so simply in words.

She understood me like no one ever had, and I like to think that I understood her just as well. Often, we didn't need to speak to communicate. It was almost like we could read each other's minds. How often in your life can you expect to find someone who sees you as clearly as Sara saw me? Well I don't know about you, but I've never found someone who can even hold a candle to her.

Gee, can you tell I was head over heels for her? The months I spent with her were, quite simply, the happiest time of my life. I'd met my match.

There were problems, of course. Though the age difference itself didn't bother us, we came from different generations. Sara wanted to go barhopping while I would rather have stayed at home and talked to her. We had some great conversations during those four months mainly because I usually won our arguments about what to do. Very few people on Sara's end knew that she was dating me, and I certainly didn't share the secret with any of my colleagues. The idea of us being found out and Sara suffering because of it was never far from my mind. I always won the "going out" arguments, I think, because she was completely infatuated with me. I knew it then and I know it now, and I still feel like I abused her affections when I won those fights.
    
    _And I bless the day I met you._
    
    _And I thank God that he let you_
    
    _Lay beside me for a moment that lives on._
    
    _And the good news is I'm better for the time we spent together._
    
    _And the bad news is you're gone._

And then I left. Sara was getting serious about me by the end of the summer, and not only was I scared out of my wits, but I was sure that she didn't really love me, Gil Grissom. I thought she loved her idea of what I was, and she loved dating someone with a brain.

So while she was away that last week, I resigned my teaching position, packed up my life, wrote her a letter, and shipped off to California. I tried to make her understand in that letter; I tried to explain that I was doing this for her. I didn't tell her where I was going. Sara needed time to forget me, and I had to allow her that in the only way I knew.

Even as I sat on the plane, I couldn't believe what I'd done. I'd thrown away the best thing that ever happened to me. My reasons were honorable, I kept telling myself. I wanted Sara's happiness, and I wanted her to be able to find that happiness unencumbered by an old man tagging along after her.

Like I said earlier, her love was a constant in my life. Flying away from her, I took comfort in the fact that she loved me and that I was doing this for her. It sounds melodramatic, but I believe that the course of the rest of my life, post-Sara, has been guided by what I learned from her.

What I said in that note to her was true: I will never, ever regret the summer I spent with her. I could never trade those memories, even in exchange for my own eternal happiness. They were memories given to me by an angel who I flew away from, and who has now flown away from me.
    
    _Looking back it's still surprising_
    
    _I was sinking, you were rising._
    
    _With a look you caught me in mid-air._
    
    _Now I know God has his reasons._
    
    _But sometimes it's hard to see them_
    
    _When I awake and find that you're not there._

When I picked up the phone seven years later, I couldn't believe what I was doing. I knew Sara was in San Francisco – you'd better believe that I tracked her success over the years and took bittersweet joy in knowing that she was doing better without me – but I had never thought to contact her again. When the crisis in Las Vegas descended, though, there was only one name in my mind, and I followed that name even though I knew where it would lead me.

I was a mess. Warrick, who is like a son to me, was in deep trouble and needed my comfort and support. Holly Gribbs was lying in the hospital in a coma, on the edge of death. I was close to losing two of my CSIs in one fell swoop and was expected to solve and investigate their cases. What I really wanted to do was hide in my townhouse and try to make it all go away.

It was my responsibility, though, and I shouldered it, albeit unwillingly. I called Sara and asked her to come. I didn't know what she would say when I called her, and all I could think to say to her was that I needed her. She must have heard the desperation in my voice when I first spoke, because she spoke only of my problems, concern evident in her voice. "What's wrong, Gil?" I wanted to cry when I heard that soft, concerned voice, but I held it back and explained to her that my lab was sinking fast. That I was sinking fast.

And Sara came. She left a wonderful position in California for an indeterminate amount of time because I called, and she put her heart into the work I asked her to do. Neither of us said a word about that summer, and Sara went about her business with professionalism.

I wish that just once she had looked me straight in the eye, but she seemed unable to. Her voice was brisk when we spoke, and when I tried to get closer to her she always pulled away.

With all that hanging in the air, she still stayed. I begged her to stay in Las Vegas and work at my lab, and she did. Within three days, she had moved her life from San Francisco to here.

She wasn't the Sara I had known. I don't know whether I was responsible for the change in her, but I hope I wasn't the one who made her so sober, so reticent, so angry at life. She was all those things when she moved to Las Vegas, and yet I could swear that I still felt our connection tugging at me.

A few times I caught her watching me, just like those days far in the past. I tried to be close to her as much as I could, enjoy being near her before she was gone, and eventually she let me. We still haven't touched, other than incidentally, since the day she left Harvard for her parents' house, but we were always close to each other at work, and I know others noticed it.

I didn't say a word about it. Well, I tried not to. I had left Sara all those years ago because she didn't need me as much as I needed her, and I refused to ruin her life by taking her back into the past. Things slipped out, though. A comment on how beautiful she is, most notably. 

She didn't say anything to me when I said it. She just gave me a wary look and walked away.

And I know it's because I walked away from her. I know I did the right thing for her, but when I wake up at night from a dream about her, it doesn't seem even remotely right. I left her ten years ago, but I still wake up and feel for her on the opposite side of my bed. I still feel her behind me, peering over my shoulder at some evidence, though I know that the days of our being close to each other are long past.

Despite what I imagine, she's never behind me. A year after she moved here, Sara started dating an EMT we work with. Any closeness she had to give went to him. She pulled away from me, and in return I pulled even further away from her. If she was trying to move on with her life, then I wouldn't interfere. She deserves all the happiness she can get.
    
    _You found hope in hopeless._
    
    _You made crazy sane._
    
    _You became the missing link that helped me break my chains._
    
                   There's no denying how alive I feel when Sara is near me. I think that the summer I spent with her tempered me into what I am. She gave me back my confidence and set me on the path that led me to where I am today. To steal a line from a movie Catherine once made me watch, Sara completed me. 
    
                   And then I left.
    
    _And I bless the day I met you._
    
    _And I thank God that he let you_
    
    _Lay beside me for a moment that lives on._
    
    _And the good news is I'm better for the time we spent together._

And the bad news is you're gone.

Up until tonight, it always seemed to come down to my leaving and her responses to it. I know I hurt her, but she won't speak of it. I was so frightened when she was injured in the lab explosion, and she looked at the four-inch gash in her palm and told me she was fine. She didn't want me near her, even when she so desperately needed help.

She asked me out to dinner once, not too long ago. No matter what I feel about her and how desperately I want her, I know that she's better off without me hanging on her. So I said no. I tried to make it look like I had no idea why she would ever ask me such a question.

I guess I did too good a job of convincing her I don't care, because now she's gone, and I'm still here. She left me a note, and as I look at it, I know that it's similar to the one I left her. I know she made it like that on purpose. 

"Grissom." The same way I addressed her then, no softening words.

"I'm leaving this note in the care of Sheriff Mobley to give to you when you're back. The words right now are coming easily to me, unlike some in the past. I'm leaving, Grissom. I came when you called and I stayed when you begged, but now I'm leaving. You'll find out where I'm going, since the rest of the office knows, but please don't contact me again. I'm going back to the real world, where there's no one jerking me around. This is the best thing for both of us, trust me. We may have been friends once, but now we can't stand each other. Ten years ago, I thought you were human. I was wrong. Perhaps you can spend all the free time you'll have now that I'm not there to be tormented on learning how to be one, though I doubt it. Our relationship, such as it is at this point, isn't working. It was nice working with you. Despite everything, you're as much of a genius and a teacher as I remembered. I just can't let myself be your student anymore. I don't regret the experience, but I regret you.

                                                                           Goodbye,

                                                                        Sara."

And now she's gone. I couldn't resist bringing her closer to me after all those years, but I drove her away again. I shattered whatever new feelings she may have had for me, and she hates me. She regrets me, to be more exact. Hearing that hurts more than hearing that she hates me would. She regrets the time she spent with me, while I treasure every second of it. She regrets that summer, the summer that made me what I am and still gives me the will to go on during my worst times.

How can it be that all I can do is hurt her, and yet every time I think about her, I fall deeper into love with her? Maybe we'll always be at cross-purposes in our lives. At this point, it's a strong possibility. 

But maybe she'll call me one day like I called her. And if she does, I'm going to have a long talk with her before I decide whether I can help or not.


	3. A Puro Dolor

**A/N: **The song is called "A Puro Dolor" ("The Purest of Pain") and is actually a 'Spanglish' ballad, so out of respect for the group that sings it, Son by Four, I'm using the Spanish text. Under the Spanish, in square brackets, are the lyrics from an English version of the song.

Part III: A Year Later

I feel stupid; I'm sitting here staring at the phone as though it's about to bite me. Then again, given whom I'm considering calling, it just might. I need to prove that the tension between Grissom and me is gone. I've been down here in Miami for a year and I'm doing well, but I can still feel the stress of our un-relationship even from five thousand miles away.

I have a case now that could use his help. It's not that it's a real puzzler - I could solve it myself – but it's an excuse to get him down here. So I can face him down and feel nothing. Once I've done that, I'll be able to get on with my life, which has been in a sort of limbo ever since I left Las Vegas.

Or maybe I just want to hear his voice one more time.

Perdona si te estoy llamando en este momento

Pero me hacia falta escuchar de nuevo

Aunque sea un instante tu respiracion

[I'm sorry, I didn't mean to call you  
But I couldn't fight it  
I guess I was weak and couldn't even hide it  
And so I surrendered just to hear your voice]

"Hello?" His groggy voice answers the phone and I realize that although it's the beginning of the workday here, Grissom is probably just getting out of bed. No, Sara, you will not allow image of him in bed to enter your mind. Bad Sara!

"Hi."

There's silence on his end. I don't know if he recognizes my voice, and I don't want to sound stupid and say, "This is Sara." So I wait a few more seconds.

"Sara," he says in a flat voice. "I hadn't expected to hear from you."

I take a deep breath – the time has come to put up or shut up, and I have to say something. "It's me," I say. Only later do I realize that I was echoing the first words I said to him in Vegas. "Uh, how are you?"

"I'm doing well, Sara." Still that flat voice. Is he happy to hear from me? Angry? I can't tell. "Can I help you with something?"

I swallow hard. "Um, yes," I say slowly. "I have . . . a case. That I need help with. It's a bug." Am I making any sense? I don't think I would be to the average person, but Grissom knows me well enough to read what I mean.

Don't think about that.

"A case." It sounds like I've piqued his interest, but he still sounds more wary than anything else. Why on earth HE should feel wary, when I am the one who got hurt because of him, I don't know.

"Yes, Grissom," I say more harshly than I had intended, "a case. One of those times when someone gets hurt or robbed, and reports it to the police?"

He sighs. "I know what a case is, Sara. Now either tell me what you want or get off the phone, because it's 5 in the evening here and you woke me up."

He sounds annoyed about being woken up. The old Grissom never cared about being woken up if there was something more interesting than sleep for him to do. "I have a case involving insects," I say briskly. "You're the foremost expert on those things, so I'd like you to come down here and consult for the city."

More silence on his end. I think I can hear him starting a coffee maker and banging around the kitchen. Finally, the noises stop and he speaks. "Tell me about it."

Victory! I fight the urge to smile. This should not be a happy moment, why am I smiling? "Do you remember that body farm victim we had a few years ago?" Of course he does, it's dumb of me to ask. Without waiting for an answer, I go on. "Well, we have a similar case here, but the bugs are more obscure. We can't find them in books." I don't tell him that we looked in a grand total of two books before I cut off the search.

"Hmm." I can almost hear his mind ticking away from here as he ponders my request and its pros and cons. Pro: bugs. Con: Sara.

"I need an answer, Grissom." Why am I making myself sound so bitchy? The whole point of this is to get him down here so I can demonstrate my lack of any emotion, including anger.

  
Disculpa se que estoy violando

Nuestro juramento

Se que estas con alguien, que no es el momento

Pero hay algo urgente que decirte este hoy

[I know how many times I said I'm gonna to live without you  
and maybe someone else is standing there beside you  
But there is something that you need to know]

Something occurs to me. "Are you busy?" Maybe he doesn't have time to come to Florida. For all I know, he's married and his wife won't let him go visit an ex-lover. "I'm sorry to bother you so early, really. Do you want me to call back later?" I'm glad I've managed to curb my temper and I now sound more human.

He clears his throat. "No! No, I'm up. I've been sleeping too much lately." I hear a chair scrape and assume he's sitting at his kitchen table with a mug of coffee. "And the lab isn't too backed up, so no, I'm not too busy."

"Will you come, then?"

A pause. "I don't know, Sara. You left and asked me never to contact you again, and yet you're calling me and begging me to come to Florida and see you. I find the contradiction confusing."

  
Estoy muriendo, muriendo por verte

Agonizando muy lento y muy fuerte

[That deep inside me I feel like I'm dying  
I have to see you it's all that I'm asking]

Oh. Confusing. Wait a second. Is he telling me that HE'S confused? God, how many times did I say the same thing to him and get no answer?

"Listen, Grissom," I say defensively. "I was confused for three years straight in Vegas, and you never explained anything to me. You're just going to have to trust me." This statement is my secret weapon, because I know he trusts me, no matter what we do to each other.

"Sara . . ."

"Grissom, please. There's nothing I can tell you because there's nothing to say about . . . that. I just need your help on my case."

He sighs again and I wonder whether he's making all that noise on purpose, to show me how annoying he finds me.

"Grissom," I try again. "Please. I need you." This time I know that I'm echoing our past, using the words he used to call me to him in Vegas, and I'm shamelessly taking advantage of the chord I know it will strike with him.

I can almost feel him nod over the phone. "Okay, Sara. When do you need me?"  
  
Vida, devuelveme mis fantasias

Mis ganas de vivir la vida

Devuelveme el aire...

Carino mio, sin ti yo me siento vacio

Las tardes son un laberinto

Y las noches me saben

A puro dolor...

[Baby, give me back my fantasies,  
The courage that I need to live  
The air that I breathe  
Living without you, my worlds become so empty  
My day's are so cold and lonely,  
and each night I taste  
The purest of pain]

He's coming. I can't believe he agreed. Hell, I can't believe I had the balls to call him and ask him to come in the first place. Now I can start getting my life back together.

I'm not yours anymore, Grissom. And soon, my subconscious won't be either.

So now I'm sitting on my couch in my cramped Miami apartment, counting down the twenty-nine hours that are left until I have to pick him up at the airport. Then the plan begins.

I made a date with one of my friends from the police department for the night Grissom arrives. Dan's just a friend and we both know that, but he owes me one. I didn't tell him why I needed him to take me out to dinner, and he didn't ask, just smiled and asked me what time I wanted to be picked up.

So what I have planned is this: Grissom will, unfortunately, be in my apartment when Dan comes to pick me up. "Oops," I'll say. "Well, we won't be out too late, so why don't you just hang out here?" Then my apartment will be . . .

The rational voice in my head takes over: Sara! Look at yourself! You're doing this so you can be free of him, and yet you're making an elaborate plot. Why not just be yourself, if you're so sure you're over him?

Because I'm not sure I'm over him, of course. But maybe if I tell myself often enough that I am, it'll become reality. But the voice in my head is right – it's childish to plan how to best show him that I don't care, and now my thoughts turn to what's really going on in my head: my anger.

Damn you, Gil Grissom. You've fucked up my life royally, and I let you do it. God, why didn't I take interpretive dance that summer instead of entomology? 

Get out of my head, get out of my heart. Get out of my dreams and leave me alone! I don't want to wake up and remember dreaming about you. I don't want to be looking at a case and wonder what Grissom would make of the evidence.

I just want my life back . . . is that too much to ask?

  
  
Quisiera decirte que hoy estoy de maravilla

Que no me ha afectado lo de tu partida

Pero con un dedo no se tapa el sol

[I wish I could tell you I'm feeling better every day  
That it didn't hurt me when you walked away  
But to tell you the truth I can't find my way]

The anger isn't helping me cope. That's been the whole problem with my move. I left Vegas so that I would be nowhere near Grissom and his influence. I left him an angry note telling him why I moved, and it does occasionally give me pleasure to imagine him reading it, but it wasn't the catharsis I had hoped it would be. None of it has been as effective as I'd hoped.

Maybe it's the whole first love thing. Maybe he's burned into my brain. God, I hope not. I'm lost enough as it is, and the more I think of him, the more confused my life becomes.

Have I mentioned lately that men are more trouble than they're worth?

  
Estoy muriendo, muriendo por verte

Agonizando muy lento y muy fuerte

[And deep inside me I feel like I'm dying  
I have to see you it's all that I'm asking]

I'm just hoping that I won't go bonkers for him again when he steps off that plane. I'm prepared, I know how good-looking he is, and I will not be swayed by the sight of him. But when he opens his mouth? That's a different story.

Tell me again why I asked him to come down here?

Oh, right. Because I'm pathetically obsessed with him and have the nutty idea that transporting him closer to me will cure the obsession.

I think I ought to start doing drugs. If I'm this insane sober, maybe if I get high I'd be normal.


	4. Hanging by a Moment

**A/N:** The song is "Hanging by a Moment" by Lifehouse

Part IV: The Next Day

Desperate for changing 

Starving for truth 

I'm closer to where I started 

Chasing after you 

I have no idea what the title of this song is, or who sings it, but it's blasting out of the muzak system at the airport and I'm forced to listen. It's strangely appropriate, given my current situation.

I'm back where I started, indeed. Chasing after Sara. Or being chased by her, perhaps; I'm not really sure. But I came when she called, all my better intentions be damned. I guess we're two of a kind – can't escape the pull no matter how much we hurt each other.

I don't know what she thinks anymore, but I've been realizing more and more lately that I want to give in to that pull. I don't want us to be yo-yoing closer together, then farther away.

I'm falling even more in love with you 

Letting go of all I've held onto 

I'm standing here until you make me move 

I'm hanging by a moment here with you 

So that's why I'm standing here at Miami International Airport, searching for her familiar face. 

I've given up on my pride. Pride can go to hell for all I care, as long as I get Sara back. I was angry with her for a long time after she left Las Vegas, though I knew that I had no right to be, and I guess I must have had many of the same thoughts she had when I left her eleven years ago.

"Say it to my face," "That can't be true, she loves me!," "Fine, I don't need her anyway." Yeah, I think it's safe to assume she had the same thoughts as I had this past year, and that's part of the reason why I came here without any argument.

You see, I know that anger at being deserted is a big obstacle, but I keep reminding myself that Sara swallowed her pride and fought back her anger to come to me in Las Vegas. To give me another chance, maybe. A chance which I blew, of course, because we all know by this point that I'm a complete idiot, but a chance all the same.

Now it's my turn to give her a chance. Abandon the anger, shove the pride back into the little box I usually keep it locked in, and put myself on the block. I don't care about whatever case she wants me to look at; I'm here to see her, not bugs.

I've never actually told her how I feel, in all the years we've known each other, and now I need to talk to her and explain my reticence. I know she probably won't want to talk, and maybe she's still harboring her original anger at me, but I have to try. 

In fact, I'm going to do more than try. I plan to stay here in Miami until she agrees to talk this out with me. I've come to terms with the fact that such a talk may not end in the result I want, and I'm willing to leave her alone forever if she can look me in the eye and tell me truthfully that she has no feelings for me. If things go as I expect – well, maybe "hope" is a better word than "expect" – though, I'll break through her walls and make her tell me what she's thinking.

But I'm not leaving her apartment until one of those two things happens.

Forgetting all I'm lacking 

Completely and complete 

I'll take your invitation 

You take all of me 

I know that I'm not exactly Mr. Perfect. I'm silent too often, I can be condescending, I have trouble recognizing what anyone wants from me . . . I sleep with other women when I know I'm in love with Sara. I admit all those things willingly. I know I'm inconsiderate to my friends, and I often trivialize Sara's problems until she wants to hit me. And I'm just overall oblivious, Catherine sometimes informs me.

I'm prepared to let Sara beat me over the head with those truths for as long as she wants, and when she tires of that, I'm going to tell her that for her, I'll try to change everything. I know I can't succeed in completely altering my personality, but I'll voluntarily submit to a Sara Sidle Training Program to improve what can be fixed.

She's given me the opening I need to do these things by inviting me to her new home, and I'm going to take shameless advantage of that. 

So now I'm waiting to see her, and trying to anticipate what I'll see in her eyes when she appears. Joy? I'd like to think so. More likely apprehension, or even trepidation. But I'm hoping for joy. 

I think I see a brown head above the crowd. Yes, that's her. Sara . . .

I'm living for the only thing I know

I'm running and not quite sure where to go

I don't know what I'm diving into

Just hanging by a moment here with you

Before I can think, I've scooped up my small suitcase and begun jogging toward her. I can tell the moment that she realizes that the man running like an idiot down the hallway toward her is me. An almost comical look of bewilderment appears on her face and I'd swear that I can tell what she's thinking:

"That's Grissom? Oh god, this is embarrassing. Is he going to try to hug me like nothing happened?"

I know I'm right when she slows her pace and smiles distractedly at me, trying to pretend that she's just meeting an acquaintance.

I reach her and stop short two feet in front of her, suddenly aware that I don't know whether to try to touch her or not. We look at each other, saying nothing, for a long moment.

I scan her face and form. She looks good; she's wearing a skimpy tank top and a healthy tan, neither of which I've ever seen on her before. I guess Miami has been good to her. She even looks like she may have gained a few pounds, bringing her closer to what someone her height ought to weigh.

Her posture tells me what her face does not: she's nervous too. She's standing a few feet away, arms wrapped across her stomach, and her left hip is cocked as she slouches and puts all her weight on that leg. He upper body is leaning slightly backwards, and thus away from mine.

I notice that she's giving me a similar examination, and I have to laugh and ask, "See anything you like?"

There's nothing left to lose 

Nothing left to find 

There is nothing in the world that can change my mind 

There is nothing else 

There is nothing else.

I can't believe I just said that out loud. It's very . . . un-Grissom-like. But then again, it got the reaction I wanted: her eyes go wide and she cracks a reluctant smile. 

"Yeah," she says, either joking with me or trying to fake disinterest again. "I like the suitcase. Is it new?"

I can't help it; I laugh again. A deep, real laugh this time, and it seems to break the ice the tiniest bit. I finally control my laughing and say, "No, Sara, it's not new. You just never had an occasion to see it before . . ." I cut myself off quickly before I can say what's on the tip of my tongue, "Because I had it stored in my bedroom in Vegas." Thank god I managed to control my vocal chords on that one!

She raises a curious eyebrow, noticing my sudden stop. "And . . .?"

I think for a second. It's not like I have anything to lose right now, anyway. I'm here in Miami for the final showdown, and the worst that can happen if I finish my thought is that she'll pull away from me, which I expect anyway.

"And . . . the reason you've never seen it is because I never invited you into my bedroom when you were in Las Vegas."

Her mouth forms a perfect "o" of surprise and her eyebrows shoot up, the way they did the day I met her and said something similarly provocative. "Grissom!"

For a minute, it's like the old Grissom and Sara. We smile at each other, but then quickly douse the happiness on our faces. "Well," I tell her defensively, still telling myself that I have nothing to lose, "it was only my idiocy that kept me from inviting you to that particular place."

Her face falls. "That's not funny, Grissom. Let's go; do you have everything?"

Oops. 

Desperate for changing 

Starving for truth 

Closer where I started 

Chasing after you 

And so here I am, chasing after her again to the tune of this never-ending song. Only this time the chasing is literal; Sara is speed walking toward the baggage claim twenty feet ahead of me.

I take the time her distance offers to reflect on our conversation in the terminal. Though I shocked her, she didn't react as badly as she could have. She didn't hit me, nor did she turn and walk away. And she said, "That's not funny," which tells me that the suggestion still plays on her emotions. I need to know what's going on in her head.

When I realize that I won't get the truth from her while she's so far ahead of me, I relax and content myself with watching her body move as she walks. Still as beautiful and tempting as ever. She still has what Catherine laughingly calls the "CSI ass," the gravity-defying look gained from continuously squatting, leaning, and lunging over evidence at scenes.

That's all nice, but I have to admit that right now I'm much more interested in what she's thinking than in how she got such a beautiful posterior. 

Do you think they'll take away my "man" card for thinking this way?

I'm falling even more in love with you 

Letting go of all I've held onto 

I'm standing here until you make me move 

I'm hanging by a moment here with you 

We reach the baggage claim and she finally stops walking, letting me catch up with her. I reach up to wipe imaginary sweat from my brow and offer her a smile. "Phew, I'd forgotten how fast you walk."

She says nothing, only nod and walks toward the slow-moving carousel that will deliver my larger suitcase to us. I follow closely behind her, deliberately crowding her.

The ploy works and she turns around, quickly finding herself nose-to-nose with me. "Do you mind, Grissom?"

I quirk a smile and say obtusely, "No, not at all."

She growls something and pushes past me to snatch my suitcase off the belt. I'm surprised that she's able to guess which is mine, but set my surprise aside when I hear her grunt. She's struggling with the suitcase, which must weigh nearly as much as she does because of all my bug books and equipment.

I move to help her, taking hold of the other handle. "I can get this, Sara," I tell her gently. "You can just go wait back there if you want."

She allows me to take possession of the heavy suitcase, but doesn't move away. I think that her body and mind are warring right now. She wants to stay close to me, but knows that it's the worst possible course of action.

I'm certainly not going to offer any help to her mind when her body is in my corner. "Or you can stay," I offer with a wink.

She stares at me.

I'm living for the only thing I know

I'm running and not quite sure where to go

I don't know what I'm diving into

Just hanging by a moment here with you

I know that I'm going to be hearing about this once she gets me alone. All the better for me, since she's emotional enough to blurt out something revealing while she's yelling at me.

I decide that a strategic retreat is in order. "Sorry," I mutter in a voice that probably tells her that I'm not sorry at all. I take a firm hold on the suitcase, which is apparently reluctant to move from where I placed it, and start pulling. It's Sara's turn to follow me as I stride outside. 

I step to the curb to signal for a taxi, but her hand on my arms stops my movement and nearly stops my heart. "I've got a car, Grissom," she says, gently mocking me. "I'll drive, as long as you promise not to start up with the jokes again.

I only nod and smile. I'm careful to promise nothing, because once I have her alone, I'll say whatever it takes to get her to open up.


	5. It's All Coming Back to Me Now

**A/N: **Song is "It's All Coming Back to Me Now," by Celine Dion. Hi all, I'm back from Geek Week and getting back into my writing, there may be another part of MPL tomorrow or the next day, too.

Part V: That Night

            I can't believe this. The second we walked into my apartment, he just planted himself against the kitchen doorframe and started . . . looking at me. Staring, practically. He isn't saying a word, though - just looking at me with this bemused expression on his face.

            I'm sure he knows how nervous he's making me, and I'm sure he's doing this specifically to make me that nervous. What I don't know is the motivation behind this one-sided staring contest. Is it some sort of weird payback? Is he, like me, trying to display his lack of emotion? Or is he going to try to discuss everything that happened all of a sudden, like I didn't run away from him a year ago?

            I'd just bet it's the last one. A year after I left, he's worming his way into my apartment to make me finish it. Ok, well maybe he's not exactly "worming." After all, I did invite him. But still, I certainly didn't invite him so he could start pressing himself against me in the airport and saying random things that shouldn't be making my heart flutter.

            Doesn't he remember?

            I can't stand it anymore; I've got to say something and break this damn silence.

_There were nights when the wind was so cold_

_That my body froze in bed_

_If I just listened to it_

_Right outside the window_

_There were days when the sun was so cruel_

_That all the tears turned to dust_

_And I just knew my eyes were_

Drying up forever 

            He hurt me first. I can't forget that little fact. Whatever he thinks I did to him, he did to me first. With that in mind, I fix him with a look and say calmly, "Why are you looking at me, Grissom?"

            He shrugs as though we don't both know he's thinking madly behind that calm façade. "Because you're standing in front of me."

            Oh. Great. Wonderful. Well he's certainly not going to be helpful tonight. "Be more specific," I tell him with a slightly raised eyebrow. I can tell that a sharp edge of sarcasm is entering my voice, but I refuse to try to hide my resentment. "Actually, why don't you start with why you were acting so strange in the airport. Let's get that over with before we talk about how you're staring at me."

            Grissom sighs and folds his arms in front of him, still letting the doorframe support his weight. "I haven't seen you in a year, Sara. Why shouldn't I be allowed to look at you, or help you with a suitcase, or talk about the past?" 

            I say nothing, just continue looking at him. I can feel my lips pursing angrily and my brows lowering as I absorb what he just said – and didn't say. Grissom says not another word, looking as though he thinks he's said his piece and now it's my turn. After nearly a minute of the "quiet" game, I spit, "What is, 'Because you hardly looked at me, helped me, or talked to me for the three years you _did_ see me,' Alex?" 

I can't tell if he gets the joke, but he gets the point, because he draws back a millimeter. I can't believe he didn't see that one coming, but he apparently didn't, because he says pleadingly, "I watched you, Sara. And helped you as much as I could."

Ok, I'm sick of this. Truly sick of all his crap. "Bullshit, Grissom. Don't talk to me like I wasn't _there_ and don't know that you're lying through your teeth."            I shake my head, laughing bitterly. "I don't know why I asked you to come down here, anyway. I was doing so great with you five thousand miles away."

He flinches. Good. Then he opens his mouth. Bad. "Sara . . ."

"Stop saying my name like it answers all the questions of the world! Geez, we both know my name is Sara, so do you have to say it every five seconds?"

I think we're both taken aback by my viciousness. If I'm honest with myself, he hasn't done anything wrong, at least yet, but just seeing him has made me realize that despite how sure I was, he's not gone from my heart. So I'm on the defensive.

I didn't realize how much this confrontation was going to hurt. Sure, I spent my first two weeks here fighting tears and the urge to call him, and sure, I still wake up thinking about him, but I was just so sure that I had forgotten him . . .

_I finished crying in the instant that you left_

_And I can't remember where or when or how_

And I banished every memory you and I had ever made 

            "I'm sorry," I tell him resentfully. "It's just that you've only been here an hour and you're already getting on my nerves. This is why I left Vegas to begin with."

            "Is it?"

            His calm, rather than making me think, as I'm sure he intended, just makes me angrier. "Yes, _Gil_," I say, using the name I hardly ever address him with. "That's why I left, and good riddance. Can't you tell that being down here has made me happier than Las Vegas ever did? Look at me! I'm tan, I actually have a life, and I've managed to acquire some fashion sense. I go on dates with men who are _nice_ instead of asking _you_ on dates and getting turned down every time. I don't even have to ask here! They ask me, they find me attractive, which is more than either of us can say for you!"

            Oh my god. Did I just say that? Christ, Sara, what happened to "I'm not going to show any emotion"? It's on the tip of my tongue to correct myself, to tell him I didn't mean that, but I know that silence is the wisest course at this point. Saying anything else would just be digging myself deeper.

            Grissom's jaw has dropped slightly, I see. Well, at least I caught him by surprise. When he speaks, it isn't with corresponding anger, as I expected, but with regret. "I'm happy for you, then. I had wondered whether you had any good memories of Vegas and the team, and I guess that's my answer." He frowns. "I would like to clarify something, though." 

When I raise an expectant eyebrow, he takes a breath and continues. "I do find you attractive, Sara. Immensely. I just want you to know that before we take this conversation any farther. I thought you were beautiful when I first met you, and I think you've only become more beautiful as time's passed. Whatever else you may think of me, please don't underestimate the respect and pride I have for you."

This is always how he disarms me. Utter calm and just enough compliments to pacify the angry brunette. Even though I know his method, it still works and I can feel myself softening. Fight it, Sara!

"Well," I say in a slightly shaky voice, "you have a damn strange way of showing it. The way you used to run away from me, you should be doing marathons by now." All of a sudden tears are pricking at my eyes. What the hell? I'm not sad, I'm angry! Why am I about to cry?

With a keen sense of self-preservation, I shut up, glowering at him rather than speaking.

"Sara?"

I keep glaring at him, but my defenses are weakened now and I feel the frustrating sensation of one tear making its way past the point of no return, making it impossible to blink it back. "Shit, shit, shit," I mumble, and lower my head so that he can no longer see my eyes – at least, I hope he can't.

"Sara." His voice is closer now. He's walking toward me and I start backing away. Get away, Grissom. Don't touch me, I can't stand it if you touch me.

Thump. The backs of my legs hit something solid and my knees buckle, sending me tumbling backwards over the arm of the couch. I can't help but yell something rude at the offending piece of furniture and beat a fist into it. Why are my escapes always foiled by stuff like this? I struggle to sit up, which is harder than it sounds now that half of my left arm is buried between the cushion and the back of the sofa and my legs are suspended over the arm, nowhere near the floor.

He grabs my free hand and starts tugging.

_But when you touch me like this_

_And you hold me like that_

_I just have to admit_

_That it's all coming back to me_

_When I touch you like this_

_And I hold you like that_

_It's so hard to believe but_

It's all coming back to me 

            When I'm in a sitting position a few seconds later, I yank sharply, trying to get my hand out of his grip. "Let me go, Grissom," I growl. I can't deal with having him touch me now. It brings those stupid damn tears back.

            He takes me at my word and lets go while I'm in mid-tug, with the inevitable effect of sending me backwards again using my own momentum. "You sure you want me to let go?" he asks belatedly. "Because from where I'm standing, it didn't look like that did you much good." Is he _laughing_ at me? He is, there's definitely mirth lurking in his voice.

            I raise my head and give him a dirty look. "This isn't funny, Grissom." I manage to pull my arm free from the cushion again and struggle to a sitting position, still glaring. "I can get up on my own, thanks." Just my luck that as soon as that's out of my mouth, my abs, which had been holding me up, give up the struggle and I go over for the third time.

            "Give it up, Sara," he tells me. Now he's leaning over the side of the couch and his face is hanging over mine. He grabs my upper arms and hauls me up, this time off the couch entirely and into a standing position.

            I'm standing under my own power now, but he isn't letting go of me. I raise a hand and start to try to peel him off me. He quickly inches his hand up, just past where I can reach. I drop my hand and look at him. We're almost nose-to-nose, since he's only about six inches away. At least that's farther than he was at the airport. "Do you mind?"

            He grins. "You're getting repetitive; you said the same thing when I helped you with my suitcase." Rather than removing his hands, he starts to pull me closer.

I struggle, jerking my arms and trying to get him off me. "Let . . . me . . . GO!"

"No." He's stronger than me (god I hate that fact), and he wins the fight. 

I end up against his chest with my head pulled back in an unnatural position as I try to keep my face away from his. Struggling isn't helping, so I stop and look at him. It must look pretty dumb, given my current position, but he simply looks back at me. "Let me go," I ask quietly. "Please."

"No," he says again. "Stop fighting me, Sara. I've missed you, I want to give you a hug, is that so horrible?"

Yes! Yes, yes, yes, it _is_ horrible! If you touch me, something inside me is going to break and I'll start crying and humiliate myself! I don't say this out loud, of course, because to do so would be to admit weakness. Instead, I say to him, "You never wanted to hug me before."

His graying head shakes slowly. "Yes, I did. I always wanted to hug you." He releases my arms and before I even register that, his arms are wrapped around me instead of holding my arms captive.

I give up. Relaxing all my muscles, I make him support my weight with the arms that are imprisoning me. Looking him straight in the eye, I spit it out: "I don't want you to touch me, ok?"

He blinks. "Why?" He says this in a voice of such surprise that I have to wonder where he's been for the last four years or so.

"Because I don't want to remember."

_There were moments of gold_

_And there were flashes of light_

_There were things I'd never do again_

_But then they'd always seemed right_

_There were nights of endless pleasure_

_It was more than any laws allow_

_Baby, baby . . ._

            "Accept it, Sara," he orders roughly. "I'm touching you, and short of screaming bloody murder and getting your neighbors over here, there's nothing you can do about it." Softening his tone of voice, he adds, "And I'm here to _make_ you remember."

            "No," I tell him flatly. "I don't want to and I won't." I probably sound like a petulant child, but that's what he always seems to reduce me to . . . though no child was ever this physically aware of the man holding her.

            "You're going to have to, Sara, because I'm not leaving until you do." He traces the side of my face with one finger. "We have to talk about this or neither of us will ever be able to rest easy. Now, do I need to hold you down, or will you agree to sit still and discuss this?"

            "I'll sit," I tell him, but give him a look that's a cross between wounded and angry, hoping he won't go through with it. We both take seats on the edge of the couch.

No such luck of course; when did Grissom ever do something I wanted? Instead, he starts talking in that calm, infuriating voice again. "I guess we're even now, Sara. I ran away from you, then you ran away from me. We've never been able to deal straight with each other."

"I've always been straight with you, Grissom. I told you that I loved you in college," I snort here, telling him what I think of my idiocy back then, "and I did all the approaching in Vegas. You've been the one hiding things and lying, Grissom. For eleven years, you've been the one lying in this relationship." I realize what I said and quickly correct myself: "Or lack thereof."

He has no response to that. I guess he knows I'm right. So instead of trying to explain all his lies, he goes right for the jugular. "Remember how it was between us, Sara? That was the best summer of my life."

"Fuck you," I bite out. No way am I going to talk about that. Then, despite myself, I say, "If it were as good as you say, Gil, then things would've been a lot different than they are."

He sighs and runs a hand through his short curls. "It was the best part of my life, Sara. _You_ were the best part of my life. That's why I'm here."

"No, Gris," I say sadly. "You're not here for that. I think you're here for the ego boost you've always gotten from me, the rush you get from jerking me around. Too bad, because it's not happening this time."

I see his face change and try to jump up, but I'm too slow.

_If I kiss you like this_

And if you whisper like that 

_It was lost long ago_

_But it's all coming back to me_

_If you want me like this_

_And if you need me like that_

_It was dead long ago_

_But it's all coming back to me_

            His lips land on mine at the same time his hand lands on my shoulder, pressing me back against the cushions and preventing my escape. You hate this, I try to tell myself. You don't want this liar kissing you, it's repulsive. 

            Hah, says my unconscious, and reacts to him the way it always has: with a rush of enthusiasm. Before I know it, I'm kissing him back and laying passively on the couch, half-under him. 

            He's kissing me like he means it, and I don't doubt that he does. In some shadowy part of my mind I'm aware that this is wrong, I'm mad at him, I don't want to be with him, but the rest of my brain is clamoring for him, for this contact.

I tear my mouth from his and suck in a breath, trying to bring myself back to reality, and push at his shoulder. "Grissom, no," I say weakly. "This isn't . . . no."

"Yes," he whispers so close that I feel his breath tickle my ear. "Sara, please, I love you."

_It's so hard to resist_

_And it's all coming back to me_

_I can barely recall_

_But it's all coming back to me now_

_But it's all coming back_

Well it's certainly been a while since I heard that particular statement out of his mouth, and it brings me back to cold reality faster than anything else could. I give his shoulder another push, harder this time, and wriggle out from under him.

Standing, I face him with my hands on my hips. "I can't believe you just did that." He holds out a hand as though to take my hand, and I jump back. "Don't touch me, for the last time."

"Don't you _remember_, Sara?" His face is so earnest that I'm tempted to give in and let him continue, but the longer I stand away from him, the farther away the memories of contact with him drift. 

"Yes, Grissom," I snap. "I do remember, and that's why I'm here and you're there."

_There were those empty threats and hollow lies_

_And whenever you tried to hurt me_

_I just hurt you even worse_

_And so much deeper_

            "I remember that every time I protested one of your grand decisions that summer, you'd start kissing me and I'd forget everything but how good you felt. I remember that the day I left for California, you kissed me like you could never get enough and told me that you'd love me forever."

            I pause, then continue more quietly, "I remember that I believed you then. But I don't now, Grissom. I can't, because you taught me my lesson.

            "I remember that you pushed me away in Vegas.

            "I remember that every time you pushed me away, the next day you'd pull me closer, and that's how you kept me there for three years."

            I close my eyes as the pain of his desertions revisits me. "I remember that I had to leave Las Vegas before you could do that to me again and make me into a nervous wreck.

            "And I remember that you didn't come after me."

_There were hours that just went on for days_

_When alone at last we'd count up all the chances_

_That were lost to us forever_

            He looks at me, speechless for a moment. "Sara . . ." He makes no move to touch me, despite his pleading tone of voice, and I'm glad . . . until he opens his mouth again.

            His voice is a caress as he says, "None of that was a lie, Sara. I loved you then and I never stopped loving you. You have to remember how good we were."

            I interrupt. "Did you get this script out of _GQ_ or something, Grissom? Because you sound pathetic."

            He seems to take no notice of my sharp words, but keeps speaking in a twisted echo of what I just told him. "What _I_ remember, Sara, is how much we loved to be together. I remember how innocent you were and how you looked at me like I was the be-all-end-all.

            "I remember that when you left for home, I meant every word I said, and I remember that during that week I did a lot of thinking.

            "I remember that most of our fights came about because I was so much older. I remember thinking about that while you were away. I remember realizing that it wasn't right for me to be taking your time and spirit while you were so young."

He sighs. "I remember deciding that I had to do what was better for you – deciding that I had to leave."

_But you were history with the slamming of the door_

_And I made myself so strong again somehow_

_And I never wasted any of my time on you since then_

            I refuse to be touched by his lies anymore. "It still comes down to the same thing, Grissom. You left. You got the hell out of Dodge while I wasn't there to face you down, and you left me a note with fake reasons and slimy promises."

He opens his mouth and I hold up a hand, cutting him off before he can get a word out. "You lied to me, Grissom, no matter how you twist it. You left without a word and left me to pick up the pieces. How do you think I felt the day I came back and read that note? You don't have a clue. You don't know that I passed out and nearly broke my damn skull. Look at this!" 

I push aside the hunk of hair that's hanging in my face and gesture wildly toward the scar that mars the side of my forehead. "Look at this, dammit! Do you know how that got there? It got there when I fell against the table when I passed out when I realized _you weren't coming back_!" I'm screaming now, and I don't care. He doesn't have any idea what he did to me, and he has the nerve to come here and try to pretend everything's ok?

"I had to clean up your mess, Grissom. I had to take care of myself and hope I didn't have a concussion, explain to everyone who knew that no, Gil wasn't coming back, he'd left, and no, I didn't know where he was.

"So don't you sit there and tell me to remember how great you were, because guess what? You're not! It took me years to pick up the pieces of my life and get back to something resembling reality, and then as soon as I had, you called and I, fool that I am, went to Vegas."

I've managed to lower my voice to almost normal levels, but none of the vehemence has escaped my tone. "And I finally got the balls to leave there, to try to get my life back together for the second time, and now here you are again trying to dredge everything up again and ruin my life one more time!"

All of a sudden I feel drained. All my energy is gone, expended on telling Grissom the truth, and my legs won't support me anymore. I sink slowly to the floor and stare at the red and black carpet as though it were the most interesting thing in the world.

The tears finally come, and I no longer care. Now that I'm not trying to hold them back, they fall quickly down my face to the floor. I don't even bother sniffling; there's no reason to. The carpet is absorbing the tears, no reason not to let them fall.

I think he's speaking to me, but I don't want to hear and so I don't. I continue staring at the ground.

_But if I touch you like this_

_And if you kiss me like that_

_It was so long ago_

_But it's all coming back to me_

_If you touch me like this_

_And if I kiss you like that_

_It was gone with the wind_

_But it's all coming back to me_

            A hand touches my head and I jerk away, half-expecting him to grab me and hold me still like he did before. Instead, the hand keeps stroking my tangled hair, smoothing it out of my face, and another body eases to the floor next to me.

            It's Grissom, I know that, but I can't even make myself try to pull away again. I just don't care at this point, but somehow my body is still poised for a blow. I flinch when a hand touches my back and begins rubbing softly. A voice begins murmuring things I can't understand near my ear; the voice is soft, so soft.

            I struggle to control my breathing and my shoulders hitch as I draw in jerky breaths. The hand that had been on my back slips around my shoulders, drawing me toward another shoulder – one that isn't shaking. The arm that guides me is warm and comforting, and I wonder if it's because the person touching me is Grissom or if anyone could comfort me in this situation. The thought slips away and I lean against his shoulder, allowing myself to be rocked gently by his even breathing.

            His voice finally produces something I can understand, and it is, quite possibly, the last thing I expected to hear. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry," the voice repeats in a monotone, keeping time with the rocking. "You'll be ok, Sara, please." Is he asking me or telling me, I wonder idly, then lose that thought to the ether also.

            I feel the pressure of his lips on the top of my bowed head and he holds me tighter. I get the sense that he knows what he's doing as little as I do. "I'll leave," he tells my unhearing ears. "I'll leave, you never have to see me again, just be ok, please, I didn't want to hurt you . . . I love you . . ." His breathing, too, hitches for a moment as he lets out the next words: "I didn't know. I didn't know, Sara."

I feel something warm drop onto my head and realize that it was a tear of his. So here we sit, locked in each other's arms in a mockery of lovers' embrace, rocking and crying together over what's happened to us.

I think I gain control of myself before he does, but I don't stand up. I pull slightly away from his body and sit up, wrapping my arms around my knees and blinking back the remaining tears. "Grissom?" I whisper, shaking his shoulder. "Grissom, I'm ok. I'm fine. Come on, wake up."

His head suddenly jerks up and his eyes lock on mine.

_There were moments of gold_

_And there were flashes of light_

_There were things we'd never do again_

_But then they'd always seemed right_

_There were nights of endless pleasure_

_It was more than all your laws allow_

_Baby, Baby, Baby_

            "I didn't know," he repeats, sitting up and mirroring my position. "I did what I thought was best for you, I swear."

I nod reluctantly. "That's what you said while I was crying. Maybe you did what you thought was best, but it ended up being worse. Do you understand that, Grissom? You ruined eleven years of my life with that one little note."

"But I . . ." he begins.

"I know. I can't say that it was all bad, because it wasn't. That summer, when I thought you were in love with me, I was the happiest I've ever been. We were great together, Grissom." I lick my lips nervously. "I loved you so much. I just don't understand why this had to happen. We were so happy." I know I'm repeating myself, but I don't know what else to say. "Or at least I was. I guess you weren't."

"No, Sara, no!" he says quickly. "I told you it was the best time of my life and I wasn't lying. You made – make – me happier than anything else. I left because I thought your life would be better without me. Believe me, Sara, please."

I sigh. "I believe you, Grissom, but that doesn't solve anything. I don't understand why you came here to tell me this. You could have told me over the phone and saved both of us the pain and tears."

_If you forgive me all this_

_If I forgive you all that_

_We forgive and forget_

_And it's all coming back to me_

_When you see me like this_

_And when I see you like that_

_We see just what we want to see_

_All coming back to me_

_The flesh and the fantasies_

_All coming back to me_

_I can barely recall but it's all coming back to me now_

            "So what now?" he asks quietly, ignoring my question. "Have we accomplished anything?"

            I shake my head. "I don't think so. I guess maybe we understand each other more now, but we haven't really solved anything. All the problems are still there."

            He leans his cheek against his knees in an oddly childlike position and looks at me. "Tell me you'll try to forgive me, then, at least. Tell me I didn't ruin your life again."

            "I honestly don't know, Grissom. I guess it depends on where we go from here. We could try to work this out, but I don't know if you can stay here that long. Hell, I don't even know if it _can_ be worked out, or if everything's dead.

            "See me for what I am, Grissom," I continue. "I'm almost thirty-three and I haven't had a serious boyfriend in thirteen or fourteen years. I haven't even had a close friend since I left Nick, Warrick, and Greg in Las Vegas." He winces when I fail to mention his name, and I shrug. "You weren't my friend there, Gil. I don't know if you're my friend now. I'm just trying to get you to understand that I'm not some perfect female whose feet you need to prostrate yourself at. I'm just Sara, and you're just Grissom, and maybe too much time has passed for us to recover anything."

            He buries his face in his arms. "That's what I'm afraid of. Just promise me one thing?"

            "Yes?"

            "Please just promise me that even if our lives can't come together again, you'll remember that I love you and I never wanted to do anything but make you happy."

            I sigh and lay my head on my arms too, facing him. "I don't know if I can do that right now. If you could stay, we could maybe talk this out, figure out what the hell happened." I shake my head slightly. "I just . . . don't know."

            "I'll stay," he says intensely, giving me the impression that he'd stay as long as needed, even if it meant losing his life in Vegas.


End file.
